


When I'm Gone

by aprilwinks (sleepysauce)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Implied Mpreg, Implied franada, M/M, Original Character(s), USUK - Freeform, usuk as parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepysauce/pseuds/aprilwinks
Summary: Alfred may have died years ago but that doesn't mean he doesn’t love his son any less.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Canada/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	When I'm Gone

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta read

Christopher doesn't remember his father very well. Notice that he doesn't use  _ dad,  _ father seemed more appropriate. It felt like a formality; as if they were merely biologically related humans rather than emotionally connected father and son. He only remembers "How ya Doin' Partner?" asked in a slight Texan twang whenever he wakes up for grilled breakfast. He could grasp the feel of strong sturdy hands holding him when he drifted off to sleep. And the distant scent of something fruity.

He also doesn't remember the hospital visits. He recalls a sharp scent of alcohol and bleach assaulting his nose. But that was all there is, really, he could sort of grasp the memory of a fizzy soda from the vending machine. But was his father the one who gave it or was it Mum? Christopher tried to recall the burly shape but all that he could clearly visualize is the shiny aluminum can. He glanced at the fruit picture and sighed, wasn't this dad's favorite? ... Or was it the yellow dad from the cartoons?

Christopher couldn't for the life of him answer that question. Did his father even like soda?

He could try to recall his father? but all he could recollect was a person curled up on the hospital bed. He looked tired and worried; but he can't truly see it's just a blur of color. Like seeing lights run past you through a rainy window. He tried to think harder and remember him clearer but it was no use. It was like collecting all the raindrops from the sky- impossible.

The only vivid memory was his mum crying and grasping on the seat next to him. They were in the waiting room. The walls felt cramped and closing in on him; why couldn't he remember why? 

Why were they in this weird room with the weird sounds and the strange people?

He huddled himself closer. His mum looked at him from tear stricken eyes; he carefully wrapped an arm around Christopher and pulled him close and hugged him long and hard. His familiar scent of tea and rose petals soothed him. And he doesn't know why he starts crying but he does too. Together they were crying for something or more accurately for the loss of something that neither could understand.

Christopher doesn’t remember the funeral that well either. He could only recall Arthur wailing. Christopher doesn't understand the tears; how could anyone make his mum cry that much? He tried holding his mother's hand but he wouldn't budge; he was too busy shielding his tears from the ground-from Christophers eyes.

Christopher watched as the rain poured down on Arthur's face. It seemed as if the rain was also crying. Christopher could feel wetness staining his cheeks and a flush flaring on his cherub face but he can't recall if it was the rain drops or his own tears. He remembered having gifted a mint bunny plush and he threw it to the ground. The rain poured mercilessly on the poor plushie until it’s white underbelly turned a murky brown. Christopher shuddered and he immediately picked it up again and held it. Nothing should be on the ground. It's too cold for it. He remembered feeling empty as if something precious to him was lost yet- Christopher doesn't remember the reason why he just hugged the plush closer.

* * *

Christopher was curious now that he was 10, wanted to know things and learn things he wasn't supposed to. At first, he tried science experiments but that led to a broken toilet and a hole in the wall. The scolding his mother gave him made Christopher never want to make an explosive ever again until Middle school. Then through the wise suggestion from Matthew, his favorite uncle, he made himself a slingshot and hurled his mother's prized scones at Francis. His mother was only partly mad, one for his abused scones but it was at Francis expense so he didn't nag too much. But then, things got boring and lonesome again.

He could always catch the pitying looks cast his way in teacher parenting meetings and the taunts by other kids questioning his other parents. He didn't let those words bother him; they didn't really know him or his life. At first he didn't care but he was always curious about the living room picture.

A sunny picnic with his mum smiling softly and him a baby in pajamas and his  _ father next _ to him holding him up beaming at the camera. He wanted to know this man whose smile could have made flowers grow. He wanted to see the delicate uneven dimples that resembled his own.

He resolved to ask mum first, Christopher walked into the cream colored kitchen and spotted his mum. His stance was fixed and he seemed transfixed. He stared out of the kitchen window. It was like he was seeing things he couldn't see. He let his arms down in defeat and gave up. When his mum was in his moods, it was best not to interrupt.

He sighed and walked back to his room and thought of who to ask. Having no else to ask, he ran around the house trying to find pictures. He paused at the living room and saw a candid photo of him and mum. He wasn't there so he is assuming this was back then in college perhaps? He scooted closer to the TV and scanned the photo. A blushing mum and a jubilant father looked back at him. 

Christopher sighed again, these pictures were taunting him. He traced his father's smile and touched his lips.

Do we smile the same way? If so, he could be very popular.

He was seated there for some time. Looking at his father's smile and how it sort of resembles his; he smiles back at the mirror next to the photo but he couldn't replicate the minuscule dimples or the brightness of his megawatt smile. He gazed at his father's hair and brushed his own. It was silky smooth like his mothers but had the same color as his fathers. He touched his face and tried to smooth out his nose like his dad and he tried to find freckles in the mirror but he had none. He didn't know how long he sat there looking at the man he could barely remember. 

He wishes he could at least hear his voice; did it sound deep and gravely or perhaps lighter and soft like his brother Matthew? He sighed and gazed at the photo until night arrived. Then, his mother woke up from his trance, walked up to him and gently carried him off to bed.Picture still laden in his grasp.

* * *

"You look just like him!"

Christopher paused, it was probably for someone else. It wasn't everyday someone called out for him; he wasn't exactly a recluse, it's just that staying at home with his mum was how he liked to spend his days. Momma’s boy comments be damned. He enjoyed spending time with his mother which was why he was preparing to surprise him with breakfast in bed. Something like bacon, meat pies and some scones. Christopher grinned; he was sure his mother would love the surprise. He turned around and almost dropped the whipped cream when he bumped into someone.

"Oh! Sorry dear, I just wanted to make sure..." Christopher took a step backward. This woman seemed very familiar; Christopher glanced at her bright blue and red pin. He swore he saw that symbol somewhere.

"Are you Alfred and Arthur's son, Christopher by chance?" Christopher was flabbergasted, who were these people and how did he know him and his parents? 

Should he just book it? Whipped cream be damned. But something about the woman seemed reassuring, she didn't look at him maliciously; it's as if she was watching him with adoration.

A co-worker of his parents perhaps? He paused and looked at the brunette. She had a pixie cut and a green headband; she looked too professional to be shopping in the lower end of convenience stores. She had a suit on; he feels like he has seen her before, but he doesn't know where. Christopher wrinkled his nose and huffed. He doesn't know why but he feels like he has seen her before and it's burning him when he can't remember where.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" he asked with a touch of disdain. His mum told him to never talk to strangers, but it seemed like she knew her parents. So that means she can't be all bad. She seemed catty in a way.

"Oh! and yet you have Arthur's accent, how cute," she reached to touch him but he pulled away. She grimaced but smiled brightly as if that didn't happen. 

"I'm Bella, I was a classmate of Alfred at MIT." She told him proudly, showcasing her university bag.

So his dad had to be smart then. MIT is a smart school for smart people. So he pressed on

"What did he study?" she appeared distraught as if his own son didn't know.

"Astrophysics, he was the top of his class every time; it really upset Ivan so they always had fights after finals," she sighed reminiscing. Christopher was even more confused: who was this Ivan? and why did they fight?

"And then we started working together at NASA, he always wanted to see the spaceships." Bella began and her lips wavered. Her eyes were glossy and she wiped her tears with her crisp suit.

Christopher stood upright, and he looked the other way, so that was where he saw that symbol. There were tons of memorabilia in the house from magnets in the kitchen to his own room with a spaceship etched with the NASA symbol. So his father was an astronaut, how cool. But how did he meet his mother then? His mother didn't seem engaged or very interested in the sciences; he always read books or was working on his manuscript. They don't seem to have much in common Christopher thought in dismay.

"How did Alfred meet mum?" Christopher twiddled his thumbs. He really wanted to know how his parents met, it felt like this is the start of finally learning about his father.

She grimaced at his choice of words. She was perhaps expecting him using dad instead, but it felt wrong to use dad when you don't even  _ remember _ him. She let out a heavy sigh and her eyes went glossy again. She brushed her feathery locks and whistled.

"Hmm, that is a famous story between our friends; it all started when-"a tall olive skinned man appeared next to her and interrupted her. 

"Hola! I got the mangos!" Bella paused and smiled back at him and gestured towards me. His gaze was friendly and he too looked very familiar and then he grinned excitedly. He waved at me and smiled warmly.

"You must be Christopher? Alfred's and Arthur's son right?" the man said with a Spanish accent, he shook Christopher’s unwilling hand and beamed at him.

"Uh, yes." Christopher massaged his hands, he did have a strong grip on him.

"He's like a mini Alfred!" Christopher groaned. He hated it when people kept comparing him to his father, as if he was supposed to know what it means. They didn’t even look like him that much!

Christopher doesn't mind the comparisons as much as people think, but it felt awful knowing that he resembled the father he never knew. He wanted to know why and he felt angry that his father left them and his mother. He couldn't forgive him for making his mum cry that day. He glanced at his watch and frowned when he realized that his mother would be waking up soon.

"Ah, I gotta go, my mum is expecting me," he picked up his groceries and started padding away. The two peered at him curiously. He stopped. 

"It was nice meeting you." He said slowly, trying to leave this awkward situation as fast as possible.

"Maybe you should ask Arthur how he met Alfred?" She looked at him adoringly, "I think that would be more appropriate." He nodded to her and went his way. Maybe one day. But today he has to cook the best meat pies and burgers there ever was. He could already taste the fat and the grease!

* * *

Christopher sat down on the fancy chair and smiled. It was a regular Saturday tea time with uncle Francis. Normally, Arthur would bristle if Christopher called Francis ‘uncle’ but he wasn't here so it was fine. He was visiting Lili, his favorite aunt for some gardening lessons . His eyes sparkled when he realized that he would be getting some sweet pastries from her later when she arrived. Christopher grinned, he could almost taste the sweet berries and jam scones.

Christopher gazed at his uncle in contempt. In all actuality, it was becoming more of a common occurrence for Christopher to see Uncle Francis. Which Christopher didn't mind at all, Uncle Francis did make delicious pastries and cakes. Not as good as his mum though no matter how many people speak ill of it. Speaking of them, he shoveled another cake into his plate and started globberring it up.

Francis sat in front of him and his eyes crinkled in distaste at his eagerness but he tutted and turned his hair and they calmly enjoyed their French pastries together. But a question burned in Christopher's mind.

Did Uncle Francis know Alfred? Christopher knew that Francis was an old family friend, ever since he could remember he could recall a waft of exotic perfume and silky gifts. 

But did Francis know of his parents when Christopher didn't exist? He had to ask!

Christopher starts to fidgets when he wants to ask something he shouldn't; the floorboards creak every time he steps into the floor and he winces. Francis looks at him curiously. Christopher decided to just bite the bullet and go. He turned his head towards Francis and he dropped his utensils down. 

Clatter- Clatter-Clang!

"Uncle Francis?" Francis looked up in fright; he flinched at the call and he sat back down.

"Yes, dear Nephew?" Francis started to pour himself wine and briskly started putting his pastry away as if signaling the conversation was going to end. Francis seemed to be in a hurry, but Christopher grimaced he wasn't done yet. Not until he got his answer.

"What was Dad like?"

Francis visibly shuddered and tried to smile warmly. He brushed a strand of his hair to his ear. He looked far beyond him and glanced at the clock ticking slowly. Francis grumbled when he realized that it was only 1:05pm. Too early to call quits. Besides, he didn't want to hear Arthur bitch at him for leaving Christopher alone.

"Well Arthur was actually quite the delinquent if you could believe that-" he mused twirling a silky strand of hair. Christopher was dismayed and stopped him. He blocked his words with his hand outstretched as if he was psychically pushing his words away from him. He shook his head. But he had to ask about his delinquent mother the next time they met.

"No, not Arthur...Alfred." Christopher didn't want to admit that his voice wavered when he uttered his father's name. Francis noticed the slight waver and exhaled softly. He knew that Christopher was going to ask sooner or later.

Francis seemed dismayed and sighed into this wine. He paused his sipping and glanced down and braced himself. He slightly chuckled to himself. He really is like his father. He looked back up again and smirked. If an answer is what he wants then an answer he is going to get.

"Well, he was loud and boisterous," Francis chuckled when Christopher's eyebrows furrowed. Too bad he didn't inherit Alfred's eyebrows. 

"And quite obnoxious too, it was like he had to be the center of attention at all times and had horrendous taste in fashion too." Francis nodded along to his words and he sipped his wine daintily.

Christopher may not know his father that well but he was dismayed at the thought that his father seemed rather unflattering. What did mum see in him? He frowned and started to eat more Eclairs. The chocolate started to run down his chin and he lipped his lips at the creamy taste.

"But," Francis stopped drinking his wine and looked at Christopher adoringly. He swirled his wine around as if he was whisking his memories. He gave Christopher a napkin and pointed at his chin. Christopher started to wipe his mouth.

"He loved your mum dearly," Francis peered at his drink. 

"I have never seen someone love another so much and so...dearly." Francis peered at his raspberry tea and sniffled.

It may have been the way he said it but Christopher softened. He knew that mum did love dad very much, that much was obvious, but he didn't know how much his dad loved his mum. He glanced down into his tea cup and tried not to cry. 

Wishing to meet the father he never knew.

* * *

"Hey Uncle Mat?"

"Yes, Chris?"

"What was Alfred like?"

Matthew paused. He was helping him create his Death Star Lego Set and looked intently at the Luke lego. He smiled warmly at it. Christopher glanced at him inquiringly. He looked back and placed Luke on his spaceship.

"He was the world's most annoying brother." Matthew started reading the instructions and ignored Christopher's groans. Christopher wiggled Luke around like a fish out of water.

Christopher guffawed, it sounded like Alfred was a right prick. What on earth did mum see in him?

"But," Matthew bridged a gap between the Death star and the landing shuttle and smiled sheepishly at him. Christopher stopped jiggling Luke around and placed him down.

"He was kind and selfless, a self proclaimed hero he said." Matthew mused fondly as he picked up the thrown Luke and gently guided him into Christopher's hands like a spaceship.

Christopher gasped. Maybe that was why his room was filled with posters of superheroes, perhaps his father was the explanation of that origin.

"Did he like superheroes by any chance?" Christopher questioned trying to look discreet and hiding his smile. He held Luke tightly and tried not to squirm at Matthew's bright face.

Matthew paused and laughed softly. He could hear his father's laugh; it had to be loud and boisterous. Maybe a little like his.

"You couldn't even imagine!"

* * *

"Hey mum." Christopher was watching his mother knit a very delicate piece of embroidery. Splashes of red and green littered around the artwork. It appeared to be a summery sweater.

"Yes love?" Arthur asked delicately, as he continued knitting, Christopher flinched when the soft cackles of the fireplace burned hotter in the living room. Christopher braced himself and padded along his mother's lap and laid down his arms on his mother's lap and tried to imitate the best puppy eyes he could muster. Arthur was not amused, but he did quip his lips in a calm smile.

"What was dad like?" Arthur stopped knitting, Christopher looked down. He didn't want to see Arthur's expression and he felt a slight tremble of his mother's legs. He looked back up. His eyes were vacant and glossy. Christopher felt a sharp stinging pain.

"He was the biggest idiot I have ever seen,'' Arthur had a far away look in his eyes; he wasn't here with Christopher- no he was traveling far away in the distant lands with Alfred.

"But I loved him regardless,” Arthur wiped his tears and chuckled as he caressed Christopher’s cherub cheeks. He turned towards Christopher and brushed his golden hair. Christopher melted at the touch and inched closer.

“Or maybe I loved him because of that?”Arthur wondered, clicking his knitting sticks together. Christopher fiddled with his mum’s olive trousers and glanced up in fascination. 

"And I think you should ask him yourself, love." Christopher flinched upwards. How is that possible? Wasn't his father long gone? He tried looking for an answer from his mother's eyes but he was resilient.

"How?" questioned Christopher standing up and holding his hands to his chest in a plea. Arthur was amused at his son's enthusiasm and gently pushed him on the chair.

Arthur sat up from his knitting and padded towards a mahogany closet. He opened it and procured a cardboard box. Christopher stared at him in confusion. Did he mean talking to his ashes? Christopher may not believe in ghosts or see things that his mum did, but this seemed like it was taking too far. Christopher was about to question this but Arthur gently pushed the box into his arms.

"Here, he wanted me to give these to you."

Christopher looked at his mother in bewilderment. He touched the cardboard box. Nothing moved. He carried it across and sat down near the fireplace and was surprised by how light it weighed. Arthur brushed his son's hair out of his pale face.  _ He could still Alfred in him; those sky blue eyes. _

Christopher opened the box and sat down on the carpet. His mother soon followed. But he hesitated, "I think these are for your eyes only." Christopher reached a hand to stop his mother.

"Yes, but we're family... besides I think he would have wanted you to see it too."

Arthur smiled and brushed off lint on his cardigan. Christopher pretended not to see his mother's eyes get glossy again. Christopher opened the box and saw letters upon letters. They were wrapped with brown ribbons and some had cheesy stickers on them. 

Arthur chuckled at one picture of his family drawn shrewdly with crayons. Many of them had names in the front like: your first date, your first love, and your biggest fight with your mom. He carefully hid that one away so that his mum wouldn't see it.

Christopher brought the first one up and read: When I'm gone:

He looked back at his mother for approval, he read the inscription and nodded. Christopher read:

**Son,**

**If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sorry. I knew I was going to die.**

**I didn’t want to tell you what was going to happen, I didn’t want to see you crying. Well, it looks like I’ve made it. I think that a man who’s about to die has the right to act a little bit selfish.**

**Well, as you can see, I still have a lot to teach you. After all, you don’t know crap about anything. So I wrote these letters for you. You must not open them before the right moment, OK? This is our deal.**

**I love you. Take care of your mom. You’re the man of the house now.**

**Love, dad.**

**PS: I didn’t write letters to your mom. He’s got my car. and my life insurance, and my beach house and my heart.**

Christopher pushed the letter to Arthur's eyes. Arthur's eyes were wet when he read it. And he promptly spat out when he read the last line. He cried out "Still a git, always and forever." He wiped his tears and hugged his son. Christopher grinned; now he can finally know his father.

"And his grammar and spelling is still atrocious, couldn't fix that now huh?" Arthur muttered to himself as Christopher chuckled. Christopher wiped a red stain off the letter; Christopher laughed harder when he noticed that the letters were stained with McDonald ketchup sauce. Arthur snickered too.

Christopher carried his letters to his room. His room was an elegant world of space; glow in the dark stars and planets painted with what looked like lifetimes ago. Christopher edged closer to a painting of the Milky way and traced his hands over the stars. Did his father paint this for me years ago? Christopher wandered his hands around his wallpaper; he was looking for something.

He stopped. He smiled to himself and rushed over to his bed and stood. He placed his hand on the wallpaper and smiled when he realized that his father's painted hand was still bigger than his. Maybe one day his hands will grow as big. He held his father's hands. He smiled. 

Now he can finally meet his father.

* * *

The evening air chilled his bones and the sky competed to be the bluest in all the years. The sunset was poignant with lavenders of blue and purple.

Christopher looked at the rest of the letters:  _ When you're a father _ ,  _ Your First Time And _ he softly sniffled when he saw the letter engraved with:  _ When your mother dies. _

Christopher realized going through his archives that he couldn't open any of them now . Not until he stocks up on some life points.

He sighed to himself and carefully closed the cardboard box.

_ Until next time, dad. _

* * *

After a tumultuous childhood, Christopher eventually forgot the letters when he entered high school. After a day totally not shoved into lockers and tripped over into a dustbin, Christopher slammed open the entrance door roughly. He wiped dust and soot off his red face and pounced into the living room. 

Christopher grumbled at the stench of burnt food and stalked off. Arthur marched out of the kitchen and shouted "Just what do you think you're doing? Slamming the door open like that?" Arthur held out his hands and grabbed Christopher's sleeve. Christopher tossed off his arms and grunted out an apology. The air was pregnant with pause. Tension loitered the room and Arthur stared unbelieving at his son. Christopher took a deep breath and went off:

"Why can't you cook normally for once?" Christopher screeched as he harshly grabbed a burnt scones and threw it on the ground cracking it.

"Why can't you be there for me as my mom?" Christopher cried out.

"Why do you love your invisible friends more than your own son?" Christopher pointed wildly at the pictures of unicorns and fairies. And finally, Christopher took out a sigh and glared at his mother.

"Why can't you just love me?" Christopher crumbled down and stared at his retreating mother's stance.

Arthur stared incredulously and dropped his cooking. His eyes shook and he was shaking like a rag doll. Christopher felt a great stab of pain; he heard of children disobeying their parents and the woeful eyes of bruised parents. Christopher would have never guessed that he too would hurt his own parents.

Christopher brushed his dirty hair and pushed past his mother, he didn't need to hear his mother's scolding now. He just wanted peace and alone time. But honestly, he doesn’t want to see his mother’s hurt expression again. His mother carefully followed him into his room and was about to enter his room when-He roughly shoved the door in his mother's face and roared: "Just leave me alone!"

He locked the door and jammed his chair in front of the knob, not that Arthur would open it but just as a precaution.

He ran to his bed and jumped on to it, when a letter blossomed out of the covers. He looked at the fallen letter and raised his eyebrows at the letter's writing.

**_When you have the worst fight with your mother_ **

Christopher rolled his eyes; real classy dad. Even when his dad is long gone he is still the mediator between them. The peacekeeper of the family and somehow he knew exactly where to pop himself in. Christopher rolled out of bed and grabbed the letter. Might as well thought Christopher as he unraveled the letter. The soft white paper was soft on his hands and he settled into his stomach reading the letter.

**Now apologize to him.**

Christopher sighed, he just got lectured by his mother, now his dead father is lecturing him too?

**I don’t know why you’re fighting and I don’t know who’s right. But I know your mother. So a humble apology is the best way to get over this. I’m talking about a down-on-your-knees apology.**

H **e’s your mother, kid. He loves you more than anything in this world. Do you know that he went through natural birth because someone told him that it would be the best for you? Have you ever seen a man giving birth? Do you need a bigger proof of love than that?**

**Apologize. He’ll forgive you.**

**Love, dad.**

Christopher's hands were shaking when he finished reading it. He fidgeted when he heard a gentle knock on his door. It was as if his mother were checking up on him; as if Christopher was a bomb that would go off at movement. He remembered the ready made breakfast, lunch and dinners made with love and the clean pristine house he painstakingly cleaned. He remembers the signs of frustration at the bills and taxes. He remembers the awkward glances at other parents at the playground. His mother doesn't deserve this.

Christopher slowly brushed the tears off with his sweater sleeve. He grabbed the letter and placed it on his desk. He rushed out of his room. He needed to apologize and fast.

* * *

Now when Christopher looks back he doesn't even remember what he and his mother fought about; it's such a shame how he couldn't have treated his mother better. Christopher was at the E.R and holding his mother’s frail hands.

He never realized how many things he gave up for him. Christopher held his dying mother’s hands until like a light in the dark he went out. His eyes lost their delicate spark; he was reuniting with his father now. Christopher cried the hardest that day. He held his mother's hand and wouldn't let go not until Uncle Francis and Matthew gently carried him away and brought some tea and a familiar green plush poking out of a bag did Christopher finally calm down.

"Since when were you two a couple?" Christopher asked, holding his security blanket and glancing at the guardian papers. Francis looked up from the papers and raised his eyebrows. Christopher did not want to talk about Arthur or else he might cry even more.

"You never noticed?"

Christopher shook his head and looked down on the ground; there were so many things he never noticed or cared to and he resolved to stop that today. His head popped up when he heard a familiar voice and oncoming footsteps.

"Okay, now that that's done," Matthew finished scribbling the details of the guardian papers and hooked his arms with Francis and held out his hand for Christopher. 

"Let's go home."

Christopher glumly nodded, and he stepped back and ran into Matthews arms. Francis joined them. They didn't smell like roses or tea or hamburger or grease but Christopher was never sure when he would ever smell those things again.

When his mum died peacefully in his sleep. He wanted to hold his father's hand, he padded towards his room and circled the outline of his father's hand. He looked at the letter on his desk reading: **_When your mom is gone._ **

Christopher shuffled closer and brought the letter. It was the lightest and shortest letter that his father wrote to him. He must have been in so much pain imagining his mother's death too.

**He is mine now.**

Christopher gaffed. Of course, the shortest letter with only 4 words. He might as well have said:  _ I miss him too _ . Christopher could almost see faint wet marks on the letters. He could imagine his father tearing up and letting those tears drop delicately down into the paper. He held onto the letter and hugged his green rabbit plush closer. It squeaked lightly. It still had the scent of roses and tea. He sniffed and imagined Arthur holding him. But this time, Arthur would be with Alfred. At least dad wouldn't be lonely now. Christopher cried harder and clutched his bunny tighter.

* * *

His father followed him for the rest of his life; he would guide him when he graduated college and when he had his first car. He teared up at his wedding when Matthew read him the  **WHEN YOU GET MARRIED LETTER** from his dad.

_ Dear son, _

_ Congratulations! Now that the easy part is over it's time for the hard part: trying to convince your S.O that marriage is worth it. _

The crowd roared with laughter, friends and family cheered in excitement. Matthew chuckled to himself even if Alfred is gone he is still the life of the party. Bella and Antonio were celebrating with them, their round-faced baby clenched tightly on Antonio’s arms.

_... and now you have to learn_ _how to be tolerable enough so that your S.O won't leave you._

Francis rolled his eyes warmly and Matthew snorted and nodded his head at the wise words. The crowd couldn't get enough of the letter and roared for more.

_ And last of all, love for a lifetime. As did I. _

Matthew wiped his eyes with Francis' handkerchief ; Christopher sniffled. Eleanor, his wife chuckled and wiped his tears away with her handkerchief.

For his Father's case he really did love Arthur for the rest of his life. Christopher gazed at his lovely wife Eleanor and smiled. He made sure that he will love his wife with as much ferocity as did his father to his mother and hopefully his own love would last a lifetime as well.

Christopher smiled in the direction of Francis and Matthew, his lovely godparents who just came back from their annual Paris holiday.

Back in his old room he kissed his wife cherub cheeks and marched into his room. He crossed his raggedly rug and made over to his tiny bed. He gestured for his wife to follow and pointed at the hand paint.

"Meet my Dad." Christopher held out his hand and grinned triumphantly; he finally was bigger than his dad now. Eleanor curtsied and held out her pale hand and reached for his father's hand.

"It's nice to finally meet you, sir" She turned back and looked at her husband and smiled.

"I have heard so much from you!" Elanour bounced towards the handprint and held out her hand and together they held his father’s hand.

* * *

Over the years, Christopher grew up and passed on life. He sniffled when Matthew left the earth and cried when Uncle Francis passed only a few days later. He buried them in the same cemetery as his parents; but not too close his mum wouldn't have liked to spend the afterlife with Francis next to him. Christopher grew up to be a handsome man with pearly blue eyes that did not reach the same blue as the sky but he had the golden wheat hair that truffled and tousled at the toss of the wind. And sometimes very rarely could you hear the tiniest twang of an Texan accent hidden in his proper English accent.

"You're just like him."

Christopher would usually bristle at the comparison but now he smiled. His son, Alfred was gawking at him in his nerdy frames; he kept pointing the picture to his younger sister yelling out: "They look the same!" 

His sister hit him and watched her daddy from the bedside. She peered back at the photo and her impressive eyebrows rose in fascination. ‘Those beasts seemed to have skipped a generation’ Christopher mused to himself. He coughed and sputtered out. His children looked to him in worry. He ruffled their hair and smiled brightly at them. They smiled back teeth, grin and gums.

"You really do look like Grandpa!" Alice and Alfred exclaimed in unison.

"Thank you." Christopher hugged his children closer and smiled deeply.

He named his child Alfred after his dad. He had the same bronze skin and the sky blue eyes that his father did, he made sure those genes were carried on. He gazed at his youngest child Alice and softly teared up. She had the unmistakable emerald eyes as his mother. She pushed Alfred off the bed when he yanked on her pigtails to get her attention; yep mused Christopher definitely his mum.

Christopher smiled as he started writing his own letters for his children the way his father, Alfred F.Jones did.

He still remembered the last letter he read from his dad. He recited the letter along to his dimming heart beat.He felt his family beckoning him away and his eyes were hazy. His tired eyes scanned his last letter from his father and wept. The shapes of his family were getting farther away and he smiled for the last time. Everything was getting farther until finally he felt nothing at all. Except, for two strong arms pulling him close and the distant scent of rain, roses and raspberries.

**Hello, son. I hope you’re an old man now.**

**You know, this letter was the easiest to write, and the first I wrote. It was the letter that set me free from the pain of losing you. I think your mind becomes clearer when you’re this close to the end. It’s easier to talk about it.**

**In my last days here I thought about the life I had. I had a brief life, but a very happy one. I was your father and the husband of your mother. What else could I ask for? It gave me peace of mind. Now you do the same.**

**My advice for you: you don’t have to be afraid.**

**PS: I miss you**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this article : https://nextshark.com/when-im-gone/


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